The Final Reckoning Trilogy Part II - Shadows of the Future
by Ben Pieper
Summary: A revised version of Part II of the Final Reckoning Trilogy. Please note this is incomplete and will probably never be completed. Please refer to the author's note in Part I: Ultimate Vision.
1. Chapter 1

**Star Trek: The Next Generation**

 **The Final Reckoning Trilogy**

 **Part II: Shadows of the Future**

 _("Admiral, you will always be welcome on the Enterprise….")_

 _Captain Picard to Admiral Nechayev, 2370_

 **Chapter I**

Jean-Luc Picard sat in the dim silence of his ready room, gazing absently through the window, his gaze lost somewhere in the dark matter between the pinpricks of light that dotted the cosmos. A cup of Earl Grey tea cooled, unnoticed, on the desk beside him.

His mind was not in the room; indeed, his thoughts were not even in this universe.

It had been seven hours since Q had waved his hand and utterly changed both the future and the past. Seven hours before, Picard had been more than a hundred years old. The weight of years that had pressed so heavily upon him was gone; the impending spectre no longer loomed.

But although his physical age had changed, his mind retained all of the memories. Every single one lurked, hidden in the recesses of his brain, ready to rise at a moment's notice and with them came the feelings.

Picard had lived through some of the most extraordinary events possible, and had seen death and devastation wrought upon him and those he loved and cared for, destruction beyond belief. Worlds had burned, ships had clashed and died, and he had suffered through it all, for much of it was done on his orders and his responsibility.

An often rigidly controlled man, Picard had nevertheless felt every one of those deaths as a wound on his own conscience and even the passage of years had been able to blunt only the smallest portion of the black despair and horror that he had gone through. For a very long time, he had dwelt in the shadow of the death of Beverly Crusher, had turned from his surviving friends and withdrawn into himself. He had very nearly not emerged from that dark time.

The terrible guilt that he had borne for so many years had never been washed away, despite time's healing work and the salve of victory. He had toiled so desperately hard to rebuild the galaxy again, always busy, never at rest, never allowing himself to stop, lest the horror and guilt carried him away.

Nonetheless, it remained in him, and had used the intervening forty years to harden into the core of his soul. Picard's body had been changed, but he was still the same man, and he felt those forty years bear down upon him now, harder than ever before.

He knew why.

Jean-Luc Picard had made a choice. Perhaps he had not truly understood the consequences of the choice but he had still made it, and he had to face the results of his decision. He had chosen to go back, to try and flee the horrors of his past.

However he looked at the decision, it was not one that he could honestly say he was comfortable with. Although he understood better than anyone the thoughts that flowed through his mind when he had confronted Q, Picard was beginning to wonder if he had truly made a conscious decision. What he had asked Q to do was enact his basest wish, his desire to return to the beginning, to resurrect his long-dead friends and to unmake all that had happened.

More than anything else, Picard wanted the Aralla War to never have happened. The awareness of that truth dawned slowly in his mind with a disturbing clarity.

A bleep cut through his chain of thought, returning him to his ready room. Picard turned to face the door. 'Enter.'

Deanna Troi entered the room, her dark eyes focusing on Picard as soon as the doors opened. 'Captain, do you have a moment to talk?'

'For you, Counsellor, always,' replied Picard, standing and motioning Troi to the long couch in the corner of the room. With Troi, Picard always laid aside formality, knowing that the relationship between the two of them did not exactly conform to commander and subordinate. 'Would you like a drink?'

'No, thank you.'

As he sat, Picard let his eyes rest on Troi, not seeing her as his ship's Counsellor, but as a friend that, in truth, he had accepted as dead and gone full forty years. For a moment, his mind flashed back to another time, both in the future and in the past, seeing her gasping out her last breaths in sickbay, using the end of her life to impart to her captain the information he would need to defeat the enemy long into the future.

Now, seeing her slender form stood before him, that memory rose up in his mind with such force that Picard realised he had tears in his eyes.

An empath, Deanna had sensed immediately the rush of emotion in her captain. Feelings of such force were uncommon in Picard and her eyebrows lifted in surprise. 'Captain, are you all right?'

'Yes,' replied Picard swiftly, covering his own lack of control. 'What can I do for you, Deanna?'

Troi decided to let the odd moment pass. 'Captain, something very strange happened on the bridge earlier today. I wondered if you'd like to talk to your counsellor about it.'

The way the question was phrased made Picard smile gently at his friend. It was such a typically Troi approach to the subject, but because it was so precisely phrased, it gave him the warning that this was not something that Deanna was prepared to give up on. At some stage, he would have to talk to her about it, but she was giving him the option of choosing his own method of doing so.

Picard knew that he had to accept the invitation now, but found that he still couldn't express the feelings that seared through him. Suddenly, he realised how he could help Deanna to understand. 'Deanna, can you let down your barriers for a moment?'

Troi cocked her head to one side, eyeing him curiously. 'Captain, you're not really supposed to ask a Betazoid to do that.'

'I know,' replied Picard, 'but I need you to read my feelings for me. I need you to experience my emotions at this moment. I think that is where I need to begin in order to explain to you what is happening.'

Troi hesitated for a moment, before nodding slowly. 'Be aware, Captain, that I will be able to pick up even the most subtle emotions, ones that you may not be aware you are even experiencing. Starfleet protocol requires me to ask that you understand that your privacy is about to be invaded.'

Picard nodded. 'I understand.'

Troi closed her eyes for a long moment, sighing as she began to lower the mental defences she maintained so very carefully to protect her and others from her ability to sense emotions. With them raised, she needed strong emotion from a source before it would register in her mind, but with the barriers lowered, she could sense the slightest emotion felt by anyone on-board the _Enterprise_. Even Deanna did not know the limits of her senses. At this range, she would certainly be able to sense every single thing that Picard felt.

As her defences fell, she could suddenly see the captain as a haze of colours, a fog of feelings that her mind interpreted as visual cues. Even a man who controlled himself as well as Jean-Luc Picard still held those emotions inside his own mind and they were suddenly laid bare and exposed to her full, penetrating gaze. This level of intimacy was rare even among Betazoid couples, and to subject her friend and captain to it was something Troi would never have done voluntarily.

Deanna could sense her friend's nervousness as he realised that his very soul was being laid bare. She felt, almost in passing, the joy that sat almost at the top of his feelings, sitting in the forefront of everything else as a gentle yellow glow. But, beneath it, there was something darker and infinitely more complex.

As the yellow veil of joy parted under her mind's eye, she began to see through to the truth of the matter in her captain's feelings. Even with her vast experience in reading emotional landscapes, the quicksilver darting of Picard's feelings stretched her to the maximum.

Here was green, the colour of sorrow and sadness, tinged with the browns of regret. There darkly pulsing scarlet hues of repressed fury warred with the darker purple shades of fear that must have been so deep and terrible that it stained the entirety of the captain's soul.

But one feeling dominated all others, a sickly glow, one that tinged all other sensations in Picard's mind – the miasma of a terrible, black, despairing guilt hung over everything. Even as she sensed it, Troi realised that she had dwelt too long in these deep and rich emotions, feeling herself absorbing some of that kaleidoscope of pain, anger and sorrow, the sensations beginning to imprint themselves on her consciousness.

With a gasp, Troi pulled herself of the pit of sorrow and guilt that lingered at her captain's core. Hurriedly, she restored her mental barriers, trying to regain some composure. Tears stung her eyes and she fought down the suddenly shared feelings of despair and sorrow.

Picard, of course, could only see her physical reaction, but the violence of her movement told him all he needed to know. As Troi closed her eyes, wiping at them furiously, he sat back and sighed, having felt the same sensations as the counsellor. He had simply lived with them for much longer.

After a moment, Troi stared at him, disbelief in her eyes. 'Sir, how -? What has caused this?'

'Something truly extraordinary, Deanna,' Picard murmured, after a moment's pause. 'I have lived with those feelings for the last forty years, all experienced within the span of a few seconds.'

'That sounds like your experience with the Kataan probe.'

'In a way,' agreed Picard. 'This, however, was down to Q's influence.'

Troi's eyes widened. 'Q?'

Picard hesitated, realising that, despite Q's quite lengthy conversation before tempting him with the lure of seeing his friends again, the entity had not truly explained the circumstances of what had happened. 'Well, he was involved somehow.' He grinned for a moment, ruefully. 'I'm sure I can find some way of blaming him.'

Troi reached out and took Picard's hand in her own. 'Captain, are you sure you're comfortable talking about this? I only wanted to ensure that you weren't suffering any after-effects from our encounter with the Borg; I didn't expect something so…'

'Bad?'

'Melancholic. It's not in your character, sir.'

Picard smiled bleakly. 'Perhaps not.'

He sighed and stood, moving to the window. Troi had seen him thus on many occasions, looking out into the darkness. Picard was not a man designed for living on a planet for too long – his spirit surged too readily towards the heavens.

'I can't fully explain what has happened. I don't understand the causes; I don't understand enough of the whys and wherefores,' Picard said. His eyes roamed the cosmos, as if looking for answers in the cold deeps. 'All I know is what happened; what I lived through.'

As much as he tried to stay calm, Picard found that he failed. He felt his hands bunch involuntarily into fists, sensed the muscles in his arms tense up, feeling the anger boil up in him. His memories rose up in him, swelling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him.

Troi could sense the welling fury building up in her captain even with her defences back in place, like a volcano just beneath the surface of an untroubled sea, ready to erupt. She stood quickly, moving to his side and taking his hand again. 'Captain, I'm here for you. You can control the anger; it doesn't control you.'

Picard's hand tightened around hers. In his eyes glittered unshed tears, reflecting the glimmer of the stars. His breath sobbed in his lungs. 'They all died, Deanna. Everyone I loved and cared for. They came and they killed everything! I had to slaughter them first! My hands are stained with the blood of everything in the galaxy!'

His voice became a snarl. 'Why did they come? Why did we have to suffer so? _Why did I have to_ –!'

Picard lurched forward, snatching his hand from Troi's and slamming his fists against the transparent aluminium of the window. He rested there a moment, gasping with the exertion of his feelings. Slowly, Troi's hand rested on his shoulder as the tension ebbed away.

'Captain,' she murmured, 'I think we do need to talk about this.'

* * *

The freshly made cup of tea rattled on its saucer as Picard set it down and continued talking. 'Once the battle was over, we made our way back to the Alpha Quadrant. The Aralla had risked everything in coming after us and they had left nothing behind them. Any planet that had been attacked during the war was left devastated, but they had not even tried to leave garrisons behind. Some planets were completely untouched – the Starfleet colony on Delta Vega didn't even know the name of the enemy.'

'What happened next?' asked Troi. She had curled up on the couch to listen to her captain's tale.

'Well, once we'd returned, the job was to clean up the mess, and try to rebuild our governments and societies. It became painfully obvious that, even if we'd wanted to, we couldn't just go back to how things were, but had to reconstruct our governments along new lines. The Fleet formed the basis for that new settlement.'

'What did you do?'

'Oh, this and that,' said Picard evasively. 'I was just concentrating on getting Starfleet up and running again.'

Troi raised an eyebrow. She knew her captain well enough to know when he was being deliberately vague, but decided not to press the issue, knowing the actual details were unimportant. While Picard had been relating the story, she had monitored his emotional state, unsurprised to feel rage and sorrow building up within him again as he told her about the war that had been fought.

She was astounded by what her captain had experienced in what seemed almost certainly an alternate reality. His story had held her rapt with attention for an hour and she had felt the sensations running through Picard's mind, knowing that what he told her was the truth as he had lived it. When he had spoken of the battle for Earth or the death of his close friends, she could feel the bitter acrid tang of sorrow colouring his recollections.

But there was a piece of the story missing, something or someone that he had held back somewhere. As Troi thought for a moment, she realised that there was another feeling that she had nearly missed, and she suddenly remembered when she had felt it.

As Picard had told her about Beverly Crusher's death, a terrible anguish had entered his voice. When he told Troi that he had fired the phaser that had ended Beverly's life, a tear spilled down his cheek, unnoticed. Troi had also wept to feel the pain that still scarred her captain over his decision but, at the same time, she had also noticed something else peeking through the fog of sorrow that lingered over his thoughts.

The feeling had been love.

Picard's voice drew her back to the moment. 'Q appeared to me at the end of my life, offering me a way back to the beginning. I took it.'

His eyes seemed to mist over as he stared into the middle distance, a tinge of regret colouring that last flat statement. Once again, a flicker of that subtly hidden love glittered in his sense. The anger and the despair were still present, but there was this unexplained sensation that seemed to impinge on every other feeling.

'Did you not want to leave, Captain?' The question escaped her lips almost before Troi realised she had even thought it.

Picard blinked in surprise. 'Why would you ask that, Counsellor?'

'It seems as if you regret your decision to return.' Troi's answer was slow and careful.

'I've been given a new lease on life,' snapped Picard. 'All of these extra years to live! I didn't have long left when Q visited me. How could I not be happy with that?'

'You always accepted mortality, captain,' replied Troi levelly. 'You never flinched from facing death. With respect, I don't think you've ever been very interested in prolonging your life over truly living it.'

Picard hesitated, but before he could reply, Troi added, 'It's not in your character to flee from something, captain, so I can understand if you don't want to –'

Suddenly Picard laughed, a harsh noise that surprised Troi even more than the rage that had built up in him. 'Counsellor, I wasn't running away from anything. I was _dying_! Things were over! I'd accepted my death. I'd done my three score years and ten, that and more besides!'

He jolted to his feet, tugging down on the front of his uniform. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. 'I could feel my body and mind slipping away from me, and I knew I couldn't stop it. I sensed death approaching.'

'Did you welcome it?'

There was a long moment of silence. Picard paced away towards the window again, but he could not stare from the window anymore. Instead, he moved behind his desk again and, leaning forward and placing his hands on the cool surface, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. 'No.'

'Did you want to live?'

'Yes.'

Troi stood and slowly approached his desk. Looking down at her captain's bowed head, she murmured, 'Why?'

Picard's shoulders sagged. 'I wanted to see my wife again. So very, very much.'

He dropped into the chair behind him, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. His voice was hushed, but Troi could hear the undercurrent of raw emotion. 'She was coming back on the _Enterprise_. She was going to arrive in three days - just three days. But I knew I didn't have that long. I couldn't hold on for her. I failed her. I couldn't win – I fought so hard for that last moment with her, desperately struggling to breathe every minute of every day that life itself became a war. I'd fought so many wars in my life and now I was fighting time; time and my own body.'

Distress entered Picard's voice. 'Q appeared. He explained what had happened, or as much as he felt I could understand, which, if I'm honest, wasn't a great deal. He offered me a way back; told me that the universe I was leaving wouldn't be destroyed if I came back.'

Picard's voice cracked. 'He tempted me so _sorely_! I just wanted to see her once again. I could have died then in her arms, knowing that there was still some joy in the universe, even for a man with the death of millions weighing him down. Just one minute more with her, to say goodbye for the last time.

'I knew that, if I came back here, now, I could see her again. Q offered me it all, and I took it! I had that right to decide for myself, and I chose this.' He dropped his head into his hands. 'So why do I punish myself for it?'

Troi sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. Amazed at her own daring, she reached out, took hold of his wrists and gently coaxed his hands apart, forcing her captain to lift his head and look at her. 'Captain, please, there's no need to feel guilty about this. You're back with us. I'm not going to pass judgement on why you did what you did, but I am very pleased to have you with us.'

'How can you say that?' whispered Picard, not meeting her eyes. 'What I did –'

'Sir, whatever it was you did, you did it because you had to,' insisted Troi. 'Just because you fought a war does not make you a murderer. Did your wife ever think so?'

'I don't know –'

'Yes, you do, sir, with respect,' said Troi, her voice suddenly sharp. 'I know that if I thought a man I loved was a murderer, I couldn't love him the way she obviously loved you.'

Picard lifted his head and looked deep into Troi's eyes, finding his pain and anguish mirrored there. However, he also found friendship and steady, caring love and devotion and he remembered once again what this woman and the crew she represented truly meant to him. They were his rock and sure foundation and, though he had learned to rely on others in their absence, he had missed them terribly. Not admitting that he wanted them to live again was, Picard realised, as grave a failing as any he had committed in the darkest days of the war.

He was surprised to find how easily a smile appeared on his lips. 'Thank you, Deanna. I will think about our conversation some more.'

'Understood, sir,' replied Troi. 'However, I need to give you my professional opinion as well.'

Picard raised an eyebrow. 'By all means.'

'I think you need to talk to Will about this,' said the counsellor, 'and I strongly suggest you think about taking a leave of absence from this ship. I don't think staying here is going to help you at all. And you need to talk to Beverly; perhaps she should go with –'

'No,' interrupted Picard. 'I can't do that. I don't want you to do that either.'

'But –'

'That was an order, Counsellor,' snapped the captain.

Troi stiffened and then nodded slowly. 'Acknowledged,' she replied. 'What about Will?'

For a long moment, Picard stared at the deck, his expression troubled. Just as Troi was about to speak again, the captain turned his eyes onto her once again. 'I will consider what you have said, Counsellor. As for talking to Will, I would be obliged if you could brief him on the situation before I speak to him myself.'

Troi smiled reassuringly at him. 'I will do so, captain.'

* * *

In comparison to the sleek, lean and muscular USS _Enterprise_ , the rounded, wallowing shape of the USS _Spirit_ was a throwback to an older Starfleet design manual, from a more innocent age. Nonetheless, the veteran _Nebula_ -class cruiser was the pride of her captain, as the _Enterprise_ was the pride of hers.

The captain of the _Spirit_ also felt confusion at this moment, a confusion caused by the detection of a Starfleet distress signal within two hundred thousand kilometres of the Neutral Zone. To the best of Captain Corl's knowledge, there was no Starfleet vessel within a light year of the _Spirit's_ current location and neither should there have been. Thus he had ordered an immediate intercept course.

Corl now stood at the shoulder of his helm officer, watching the stars streaking past on the screen before him. 'ETA?'

'Four minutes, captain,' replied the helm officer.

Corl turned his head slightly to speak to the tactical officer. 'Any response to our hails?'

'None, sir,' replied Lieutenant Frane. Her red hair waved around her face as she glanced up at her captain. 'I'm keeping a channel open in case anyone signals us.'

'Are our scans returning anything?'

'I'm picking up a small mass of duritanium, possibly a shuttlecraft,' responded Ensign Leet, whose sharp blue eyes focused on the console before her. 'No warp signature.'

Corl frowned. 'What's a shuttle doing in deep space so close to the Romulan border?' he murmured to himself.

'Sir, I've just had a response from the shuttle; automated systems only,' announced Frane. 'It's the shuttlecraft _Keats_ , detached from Starbase 411 to Admiral Alynna Nechayev.'

'Nechayev?' repeated Corl, feeling a cold chill run through him. _If the Romulans had attacked a Starfleet Admiral on our side of the border…_ 'Signal the Admiral by name.'

'Still no response, sir,' replied Frane after working at her console for a moment.

'Captain, we're coming into sensor range,' interjected the science officer.

Corl moved to his seat. 'Helm, bring us out of warp. Tactical, make ready a tractor beam to bring the shuttle into our hangar. What's the status of the shuttle?'

'The shuttle is adrift approximately twelve thousand kilometres off our port bow,' replied Ensign Leet. 'The warp core is off-line, and life-support is functioning at minimal level.'

'Life-signs?'

Leet hesitated before answering. 'I… think so, sir,' she said eventually.

'Clarify,' demanded Corl. The Bolian had a well-deserved reputation for no-nonsense.

Leet turned her chair to face her captain. 'Sir, there's a life-sign on the shuttle, but I can't confirm if it's a human life form. There's a strong bio-electrical field causing some interference with the scanners.'

Corl hesitated for a moment, but there was only one logical course of action to take. 'Lock a tractor beam and bring the shuttlecraft in. Have a medical team stand by. I'll be in the hangar.'

He stood and headed for the aft turbolift. As he passed Lieutenant Frane, Corl paused and looked at his trusted tactical officer. 'Have a security detail meet me there. There's no reason not to be careful.'

* * *

The security detail and the medical team were waiting by the hangar bay doors when Corl arrived. He nodded to the ensign in charge of the detail and proceeded straight through the doors.

As Corl entered the hangar, the pinpoint tractor beams inside the shuttle bay were guiding the sleek shape of the _Keats_ to a gentle landing alongside the _Spirit's_ own shuttles. As the medical team moved forward to get into the shuttle, Corl's experienced eye ran over the hull, noting that there were no scars or burns from weapons fire.

The security detail fanned out around the shuttle, phaser rifles at the ready as the captain followed on the heels of the medics, entering the shuttle last.

Inside, the dark interior seemed perfectly normal, aside for the unconscious body of Admiral Nechayev sprawled on the deck behind the pilot's seat, the medical team already surrounding her. 'Status?' asked Corl.

The lead nurse glanced at the captain. 'Unsure, sir. She seems to be unhurt, but she's in complete neural shutdown. We'll know better when we get her to sickbay.'

Corl nodded and moved out of the way as the medical team hoisted the Admiral onto a stretcher and moved her out of the shuttle.

Alone, Corl turned his attention to the main console. 'Computer?'

Immediately, the console lit up and the main lights activated. Corl frowned. 'Status report.'

'Status green,' responded the computer's soft voice. 'All systems are functional.'

'Details of last flight plan logged?'

'Shuttlecraft _Keats_ departed Starbase 411 on stardate 50989.6. Flight plan not filed.'

Corl frowned. 'What was the reason?'

'Admiralty override,' replied the computer.

Corl tapped his commbadge. 'Bridge, this is the captain. Signal Starbase 411 and get me Admiral T'Valla.' He turned his attention back to the console. 'What was the last course set?'

'Bearing 510 mark 443.' A screen lit up, showing the projected course of the shuttle. The course took it towards a small star system in the Neutral Zone, called the Korella system. The course approached the second planet in the system; one that the computer said was uninhabited.

Corl stared at the screen, willing it to make sense. Admiral Nechayev had apparently stolen a shuttle from a Starbase and set a course to an uninhabited planet in the Romulan Neutral Zone. Whichever way you looked at it, the situation was not normal behaviour for a Starfleet Admiral.

The communicator bleeped. 'Captain, we have Admiral T'Valla on subspace.'

'Thanks, bridge,' said Corl. He sat at the pilot's chair and keyed in a command. A handsome female Vulcan face appeared on the screen before him. 'Admiral, thank you for your time.'

'My time is yours, captain,' replied T'Valla. 'I understand you have located one of our shuttles.'

'Yes, Admiral, but that's not all. Fleet Admiral Nechayev was on board. She is currently in our sickbay, unconscious.'

T'Valla raised an eyebrow, the closest a Vulcan would get to outright surprise. 'Admiral Nechayev? Why did she have one of our shuttles?'

'I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that question, Admiral,' responded Corl. 'Her course would have taken her into the Neutral Zone, but something happened along the way to stop her.'

'Although we have a log of the _Keats_ being taken from the Starbase, we had no idea Admiral Nechayev was even here,' replied T'Valla evenly. 'This is a very worrying development. Captain, I suggest you and the _Spirit_ head here. We will investigate at our end – hopefully you can get some answers from Admiral Nechayev.'

'Understood, Admiral,' acknowledged Corl. 'We shall arrive in two days.'

Corl closed the channel, and made as if to tap his badge to dismiss the security detail when something caught his eye. He lowered his hand, staring at a black mark on the interior of the window in the shuttle. For all the world, the mark looked exactly the same as a phaser flash burn.

'What the hell's going on?'

* * *

Commander Will Riker entered his quarters and froze in the door. Deanna Troi sat on a chair in the corner of the room, reading. As the door slid open, she looked up and fixed him with a penetrating stare. 'We need to talk, Will.'

'How the hell -? Deanna, I locked this!' retorted Riker. Although he had no philosophical objections to finding Troi in his quarters, it would have been nice if she had asked first.

'You think I couldn't guess your lock code? Come on, we've got more important things to talk about.'

Grumbling, Riker stepped through, allowing the door to close behind him. 'I could have you court-martialled for this –'

'The captain's in trouble.' Troi's voice was flat.

To his credit, Riker dropped the offended act immediately. 'What's wrong?'

'It's a little difficult to explain,' replied Troi. Quickly, she outlined what Picard had told her, skipping over the more emotional parts to concentrate on the actual events Picard had related. Riker sat down once the import of what Troi was telling him began to hit home, listening intently, not interrupting and saving his questions for the end.

When Troi had finished, Riker let out a breath he had not realised he was holding. 'An alternate universe.'

'It sounds far-fetched, I know,' started Troi, but Riker interrupted.

'Not if you read any station logs from _Deep Space Nine_.' Riker sighed and sat back into the chair. 'Is he the same man?'

'Yes… and no,' replied Deanna awkwardly. Riker raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued, 'Come on, Will, he's lived through forty years within the space of a few seconds, and they're not pleasant memories to retain. He had to watch all of us die.'

Even as Troi said it, a chill passed through her. Riker noticed her reaction and reached to take her in his embrace. Troi accepted, enjoying the warmth of his arms and drawing reassurance from his presence. 'Sorry, Will, but listening to him talk about it for a couple of minutes would convince you more than seeing a holovid. The loss in his voice…'

Riker hated himself for the question he had to ask, even as he enjoyed the smell of her hair. 'De, I need to know: Is there anything affecting him that might become a command issue?'

Troi sighed into Riker's chest. 'I don't know, Will. I just don't know.'

* * *

Captain Corl stared down at the recumbent body of Admiral Nechayev, hooked up on the bio bed in sickbay. Beside him hovered his Chief Medical Officer, Dr Kennedy, whose nervous disposition masked his undoubted skills in the business of healing. 'Doctor, given that she's unconscious and has been ever since we brought her shuttle on-board, how exactly is she _refusing_ treatment?'

Corl's voice was sharp as acid. Mysteries frustrated him as much as they fascinated others, and this mystery was the most infuriating he could ever have confronted.

Dr Kennedy wiped his brow. He and Corl were famous for their clashes, partially due to Kennedy's own nervous disposition, and the captain's bad mood made him even more shaky than normal. 'Captain, she's not responding to our attempts to revive her,' he stuttered.

'That's not the same as refusing treatment,' snapped Corl.

Kennedy blinked at the captain for a few moments, reflexively swallowing before the answer could make its way past his lips. 'I mean, there is something actively blocking us from reviving her. Her body is resisting our attempts to treat any injuries.'

'I don't understand,' said the captain. 'How can she be doing that?'

'I can't explain it,' said Kennedy. He moved to one of the control consoles by the side of the Admiral's head. 'Watch what happens when I try to use the cortical stimulator.'

He pressed a few keys, sending a pulse of energy through the equipment designed to provoke reaction inside the patient's brain. There was no reaction from the Admiral, but a few seconds after the pulse had been generated, another pulse seemed to emanate from Nechayev's head, lashing into the equipment. A spark flared from the cortical stimulator, forcing both Kennedy and Corl to step backwards sharply. A small cloud of smoke began to drift from the bio bed.

Kennedy waved away the smoke and looked ruefully at the ruined equipment. 'Captain, her defence reaction is getting stronger. When we first tried to intervene, we simply couldn't make any headway. Now, she is actually attacking us. I daren't try anything more aggressive without knowing what the consequences are.'

'Have you tried to scan her?'

Kennedy directed Corl to the main sickbay readout. 'The same bio-electric field that meant the ship's sensors couldn't pick up her life-signs is blocking us from scanning her now.'

Corl glared at the screen. 'Doctor, what is happening to her?'

'I don't know, captain,' replied Kennedy. His eyes met Corl's. 'There is one thing I can be certain of; the bio-electrical field is increasing in intensity. At some point, I think she is going to wake up.'

'Good,' responded Corl shortly. 'If and when she does awake, notify the bridge immediately. I have some questions for her.'

He stalked out of the sickbay, deeply frustrated with life. Dr Kennedy looked down with some concern at the body on the bed. 'I'm not so sure she'll be answering questions, captain.'

* * *

Picard didn't emerge from his ready room for the rest of the day and Riker was left to supervise the ship's operations on his own. On its own terms, this was not a problem for the massively experienced first officer, but every so often, his eyes would drift towards the closed double doors leading to the captain's inner sanctum.

An uneasy atmosphere hung over the ship. Riker knew that news of Picard's odd behaviour had spread through the lower decks, with the tale growing wilder in every telling. One story that particularly worried him was that the captain had completely disappeared from the bridge and reappeared moments later as an old man.

What worried Riker was that this story was not that far from the truth as Deanna had told him.

The atmosphere pervaded the bridge even more than the rest of the ship. Although it was not unknown for the captain to spend much of his time in his office, the captain's behaviour had clearly left its mark on the crew. Even Data, normally so precise and controlled, kept casting glances at the ready room doors. The only contact Picard had had with the rest of the bridge crew had been a short private message to his tactical officer, the content of which Hedly had not informed Riker about.

As the night shift approached, Riker started to consider that he would have to intrude on the captain's privacy, as the master of the vessel was required to supervise the watch transfer. Although Riker was fully capable of overseeing the change of duty shifts, Starfleet regulations required the captain to log the change himself.

Abruptly, Picard's voice resounded across the bridge. 'Commander Riker, could I see you in my ready room please?'

'Aye, sir,' responded Riker, his voice not showing any of his puzzlement. He stood, throwing a puzzled look at Troi, who shrugged back.

Riker stepped through the doors of the ready room to find Picard sat at his desk, a pile of padds strewn across the normally pristine surface. Concentrating on the screen before him, Picard threw a cursory glance at his first officer. 'Have a seat, Number One.'

As Riker did so, he took a moment to look closely at his superior officer. Picard seemed tense, on-edge, his intense frown fixed on the monitor, tension etched into every line on his face.

Suddenly, Picard keyed the screen off and turned to face his first officer, his hands clasped on the desk before him. His eyes were hooded, not looking directly at Riker. 'Will, I suspect Deanna has filled you in on some of the details of a conversation I had with her earlier today.'

Riker smiled. 'She did mention it, yes, sir.'

'Do you feel there is any necessity to relieve me of command?'

Riker's eyebrows shot up at the question, but he had the good sense to think about his answer, rather than reacting to his impulsive loyalty to his good friend. 'Not at the moment, sir,' was his final answer.

Picard nodded thought fully. 'A sensible answer, Number One.' A smile crossed his face. 'I expected no less.'

The captain sighed and sat back in his chair, turning his attention to the stars outside. 'How much do you know?'

'The general thrust of it, yes,' replied Riker carefully. He had realised that his captain was avoiding looking him in the eyes. 'An alternate universe; a war; death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. That Q was somehow behind it.'

He hesitated, unsure of what to say next, unwilling to pry into the obviously troubled recollections of his friend. 'A question, Will?' asked Picard, his voice calm.

'Yes, sir,' sighed Riker. 'Why did Q do it?'

'That I don't know,' replied Picard, swinging himself back around. 'Q is a frustration and a nuisance at best, but more and more I feel that he is playing a larger game than this, a little like when he dropped us into the path of that first Borg cube.'

Riker got the impression Picard was more comfortable talking about business than feelings. 'Did he actually intervene to send you on this other path?'

It was Picard's turn to hesitate. 'Not as such,' he replied after a long pause, his eyes raising above Riker's head to stare into the middle distance. 'The first time we realised that the Q had any stake in what was happening was when he approached me about closing the rift. At the time, he fed me a story about a rival Q Continuum attempting to rid their galaxy of a problem in the Aralla, but when he appeared later, he told me that he had lied; on the whole, not something that surprised me.

'That next time I saw him, the last time, he had some strange story about me being the only unique individual in something he called the multiverse. Obviously that wasn't something I could take seriously.'

This last was said with a dismissive sneer, but Riker had spotted something in Picard's manner that suggested that his captain did indeed take it very seriously indeed.

The odd moment was suddenly brushed off as Picard suddenly blinked and returned his full attention to Riker. 'That aside, Will, the reason I asked you in here was to tell you that I've decided to follow Deanna's recommendation and take a leave of absence from the _Enterprise_. I have returned from this alternate reality with a lot of memories, thoughts and feelings that perhaps do not properly belong here. I need some time to sort them out.'

Riker wisely decided not to touch on that topic. 'Aye, sir. Do you have any specific orders before your departure?'

Picard shook his head. 'Not quite, Will.' He levered himself from his chair and turned to look through the windows again. 'Although Admiral Drayton was amenable to the idea that I took indefinite leave, he wasn't prepared, rightly, to leave the _Enterprise_ without a captain.'

'I will be in command, sir,' protested Riker.

'Not good enough, Number One. At the very least, there are several things a starship captain can do that a first officer, no matter how capable, cannot,' replied Picard. He half-turned from the window. 'There are some things a captain must know that no-one else can.'

Riker nodded, seeing the logic. 'Very well, sir. Who will be coming aboard to replace you?'

Picard smiled, turning to face his first officer. 'Will, I think the answer is fairly obvious. I asked Admiral Drayton to promote you to captain and assign you the command of the _Enterprise_. He agreed readily.'

Riker's eyes widened in astonishment. After a moment, he managed, 'Why?'

For the first time, Picard looked directly into his first officer's eyes. 'Will, I think we both know that I won't be coming back to the _Enterprise_. This is your ship now. If I return to Starfleet, there's a place in the Admiralty for me, but my time here is over. It's your time now.'

Riker was instinctively prepared to contradict his captain but, before he did, he saw a bitter sorrow on Picard's face that he had never seen before, an expression that was so unfamiliar on his captain's face that Riker was jolted into silence by its existence. Suddenly, the first officer began to truly believe that his friend did not _want_ to return.

'This place is too painful,' Picard continued, having seen Riker's expression change. 'It holds too many memories. Being surrounded with familiar faces that I have seen die is...'

He pointed at his first officer, his voice becoming more urgent. 'To see you there, living and breathing, is both a wondrous joy and a terrible sorrow. A joy, because I know you can continue with your life, not interrupted by war and death. A sorrow, because I can still see your body lying on the bridge of this starship. I am forever reminded that my decisions led to your death, and to the deaths of virtually everyone else on the _Enterprise_.'

As he said that, Picard felt the anguish burning through him again. Fighting it down, he turned his mind back to more straightforward logic. 'Besides,' he continued, trying to keep his tone business-like, 'the disruption to the crew would be minimised. In fact, I suspect Starfleet has been waiting to do this for quite some time.'

Again, Picard had to fight off the sorrow that lurked beneath his conscious thoughts. He did so by standing and holding out his hand to Riker. For a moment, Riker didn't move, but then he stood and took his captain's hand. 'Congratulations, Will. I know you've wanted this. Now it's yours.'

'Thank you, sir,' replied Riker, fighting back a sudden surge of sorrow. 'It won't be the same without you.'

With that, Riker turned and left the room. As he did so, Picard turned again to look at the stars. Feeling the despair well up within him, he whispered, 'That may be for the best.'

* * *

Readouts above Admiral Nechayev's bed hummed and bleeped quietly, monitoring their patient's vital signs efficiently and discreetly. Dr Kennedy stood by the side of the bed, his compassionate gaze focused on the body before him. Reaching out, he keyed a few commands into the displays above Nechayev's head and sighed.

The monitors were struggling now to fully report on Nechayev's condition due to the increasing intensity of the bio-electrical field that was hampering the ability of the sensors to take readings of her body.

Kennedy turned away from the bed and walked thoughtfully back to his office in the very heart of the sickbay. Enclosed by a number of transparent panels, it afforded anyone within a panoramic view of the entire sickbay area. The doctor sat down and keyed in a command on the desk monitor to record his log entry.

'Chief Medical Officer's log: Patient Alynna Nechayev – The bio-electrical readings have increased by a factor of three in the last six hours. It is now beginning to affect our instrument readings, and I am being forced to use manual methods to monitor patient heart rate etc. Unfortunately, patient's defence reactions have also increased, meaning that I am now unable to take any blood samples.'

As he completed that last sentence, Kennedy hesitated, realising that something was subtly wrong. Ancient instincts awoke, ones that had warned his distant ancestors of a stalking predator. Suddenly, he realised he didn't want to see, wanted only to obey the ancient urge to run and hide that filled him.

He forced his eyes away from the desk monitor and jumped in shock.

Admiral Nechayev stood outside the office, her face almost pressed against the glass. She stood as if her body was hanging from her neck, her arms limply hanging by her sides. Her eyes were closed tightly and yet she was obviously watching him.

The doctor stood slowly, backing away reflexively from the disturbing apparition before him. As he did so, Nechayev's head turned to follow his movement, enhancing his terrified sense that he was being hunted.

He knew that only a few short strides were between him and the sickbay door, but he felt certain that he would never reach it, however fast he moved.

Nechayev started to move around the outside of the office to cut him off from the door, her closed eyes still focused on him. She walked like a hunter, every foot placed precisely on the carpeted deck but, as if she was unused to having arms, her limbs simply dangled at her side, only swaying as the rest of her body moved.

Now frightened out of his wits, Kennedy began to raise his hand to his commbadge. As she saw him, Nechayev's head cocked to the side, almost quizzically. More and more, the certainty stole over Kennedy that he did not face a human being. A smile began to steal over Nechayev's face, a mirthless, mocking smile, which gave the twin impressions of both contempt and hatred.

As the doctor watched, dumbstruck, Nechayev's arms began to move, almost in imitation of him. Her hands, bunched into fists, were lifted before her. When they were in front of her face, she turned her hands palm upwards and opened them.

Kennedy felt his bile rise at the sight in front of him. In the palms of the admiral's hands were her eyes, still wet with blood and viscera, trailing the long red cords that were once connected to her brain. Then she opened her eyelids.

Kennedy screamed.

* * *

'CAPTAIN!' The cry ripped through the calm atmosphere of the bridge, jolting Corl from his chair with surprise.

'Sir,' called Lieutenant Frane, 'that was Dr Kennedy!'

'Bridge to sickbay, respond!' said Corl. He didn't wait long for an answer, knowing in his gut that something was terribly wrong. He spun to face his tactical officer. 'Get a security detail together, fully armed, and meet me in sickbay immediately! And clear deck seven!'

Ignoring the acknowledgement, Corl hurried towards the turbolift, a dark fear slowly being born within him.

Pounding down the corridor to sickbay, Corl caught glimpses of security officers herding people from their quarters and away from harm. As he approached sickbay, he slowed his pace and carefully drew his phaser from the holster on his hip. He approached the door slowly and, as it slid open before his approach, he levelled his phaser.

Corl's eyes immediately lighted on the smashed glass panels around the office area. As he stepped forward, he could smell the acrid tang of human blood on the air.

As he stepped towards the office, he felt something squelch underfoot. Lifting his shoe, Corl gagged as he realised that he had stepped on a human eyeball. Another rested on the deck a few feet away.

With mounting horror, he became aware that he could hear the sound of a liquid dripping somewhere in sickbay. As he stood, the other door to sickbay opened with a hiss, allowing Frane and two other guards to enter, rifles at the ready. Frane caught sight of the damage to the office and the expression of horror on Corl's face.

Corl walked towards the second compartment in sickbay, motioning for the guards to follow behind him. As they fell into step with him, Corl walked around the partition wall and into a scene of carnage.

The wreckage of smashed equipment was strewn about the deck, broken glass crunching underfoot as Corl and the guards carefully made their way into the room.

The smell of blood was overpowering here, and Corl realised why as he turned. Frane also turned to see, an expression of profound sorrow and horror crossing her face as she did so.

Dr Kennedy had been crucified against the partition wall, suspended from the floor, a scalpel slashed through his throat and great shards of glass driven through his hands and chest with inhuman force, impaling him. The blood had not time to dry, and still spilled out over the deck from the terrible wounds inflicted on his body.

Behind Corl, one of the security guards muttered in disbelief, 'Oh, shit.'

Corl, fighting down his disgust at the horrifying sight, tapped his commbadge. 'Corl to bridge; red alert. Seal off decks seven and eight, and order full civilian evacuation from decks six, seven and eight and nine. And get a full medical team down to Sickbay.'

'What could have done this?' whispered Frane, as she stared at the mutilated body.

'Whatever it is,' replied Corl with barely restrained fury, 'it's going to die.'

* * *

Perched on a short ladder with the Jeffries Tube, it heard the movements and muted conversation within the sickbay.

It sensed energy fields being erected all around, sealing off access to the other decks. No matter, it thought, it had everything it needed here.

Hauling itself further up the ladder, it released the seal on the next hatch and crawled through. Closing the hatch behind it, the creature took a moment to consider the unusual feelings it was sensing from its new skin. It moved its hands back and forth in front of its eyes, waving the fingers in the air and enjoying the novelty of the form.

Its senses were growing by the minute, the feelings of the humans around it sensed, sampled. The building fear quotient was savoured. It could still access the dying memories of the human it had taken, the terror and horror of this death filling its mind.

It knew there was something missing. A terrible loneliness filled it, a longing for a voice; a link to the rest of its kind.

No matter, it decided. If it could not go to them, they would be brought.

Together, they would raze the galaxy and watch the humans – every last one of them – burn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Once again, Captain Picard stood at the windows of his ready room, his eyes hooded and shoulders slumped, removed from his ship, a cup of Earl Grey forgotten, cooling on the desk behind him. For the first time in his life, he felt cut adrift, unsure of his direction. His conversations with Deanna and Will had only left him more convinced of the need to leave the bridge of his starship.

Picard was honest enough with himself to admit that he couldn't bear to be on his starship any longer, but the thought that his love for his ship, the only true love in his life, was gone, sickened him to the core. Although he had gained the lives of his crew again, he found that they were like ghosts, haunting him, spectres he could not tolerate any longer.

He fought down the fury and sorrow once more, feeling the bitterness rise to engulf him again. Why had Q done this to him? Why had he left everything intact? Why did he need to feel like this?

Slowly, Picard regained control over his rage and sorrow, his emotions fighting like a wild beast against his conscious mind's restraint. But although leashed, they were always there, gnawing at the bounds of his mind and his self-control. The mental fortitude that he relied on and defined himself by was withering and dying, starved of strength.

The door chime sounded. Picard hesitated a moment before remembering who was at the door and he half-turned to say, 'Come.'

The door slid aside to admit Lieutenant Hedly. She held herself almost at attention, back straight and poised, not quite in an attitude of stiff formality. Picard turned to face her and, as he did so, he began to feel some of the anguish and despair gently ebbing away from him.

The sensation took him by surprise and he favoured Hedly with a warm smile, momentarily forgetting where he was. 'Gaia, thank you for coming. Please sit down.'

Hedly looked puzzled at Picard's use of her first name and even more so at the unexpectedly warm tone of her captain's voice. She had only been aboard the _Enterprise_ a few weeks and to find Picard behaving as if she was a close confidant was deeply disconcerting. She took the seat opposite the desk uncomfortably.

For his part, Picard saw the confused expression that flitted across his security chief's face and inwardly berated himself. For a moment, as he turned, his mind had inserted a memory of Gaia Hedly as he had known her for many years, confident, mature and secure in herself. She had been his friend and loyal supporter for many years. He had instinctively responded in the way he had been used to.

Now, however, he looked down at a much younger version of that same woman, as talented and capable, but not yet possessed of the inner conviction which came of being tested and succeeding.

'Lieutenant,' said Picard after a long pause, deciding to adopt formality to put Hedly at ease, 'your report, please.'

He had judged it correctly. Hedly seemed to relax at her captain's clipped military tone. She straightened in the chair. 'Sir, as you ordered, I maintained a sensor fix on the Korella system. As Commander Data reported, the subspace anomaly vanished shortly thereafter and has not reappeared.'

'What is the status of the Warbird _Frisanius_?'

Hedly's head cocked to the left, her expression one of surprise. 'Sir, how did you know -?'

Picard raised his hand to forestall questions. 'Another time, Lieutenant.'

The older Hedly would never have accepted that as an answer. This younger woman still believed her captain was sacrosanct, a belief that she lost during the war, Picard mused. Hedly's face immediately cleared and she continued, 'A Warbird decloaked and ran a full sensor sweep of the area. She remained on station for three hours before engaging her cloak about ten minutes ago. I think she has probably departed the system.'

'That would tie in with the reports of Warbirds decloaking and running sensor sweeps in this sector,' stated the captain. He held himself rigidly, feeling his arms trembling.

Hedly didn't question this piece of knowledge either and didn't seem to notice her captain's odd expression. 'Yes, sir. I have continued to monitor for distress calls, as you asked. There have been none.'

As Hedly gave her report, Picard felt a tension that he had not even known was gripping him suddenly release. Unable to stop himself, he sat heavily in his chair, resting his head in his hands. 'Then it's truly over,' he muttered to himself.

He belatedly became aware that Hedly was staring at him in some dismay. Trying to recover, Picard forced himself upright in his chair. 'Thank you for your… report, Lieutenant,' he managed to say. 'Dismissed.'

Despite her shock, Hedly responded perfectly. She eased herself to her feet, held herself at attention for a brief moment, before about-turning on her heel and heading out of the ready room.

Picard hardly noticed her leave. He had ordered the _Enterprise_ to maintain its position and monitor the situation in the Korella system, ready to charge in at a moment's notice should the Aralla try and break through again.

He didn't trust Q. In his heart, Picard had dreaded that Q had sent him back to the beginning so that he would have to live through it all again, in an endless loop of death and suffering.

Now he knew for certain. It wouldn't happen again. The past – the _future_ – was sealed away, behind a thin veil that was now completely impenetrable, given form in this universe only by his memories. The rift was sealed. The threat was over. His friends could live their lives in safety, their futures restored.

The emotion, the sheer flood of it, proved too strong for him. Picard found his cheeks wet with tears, great sobs heaving his chest as the tension collapsed and relief washed through him in a torrent. He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head, enduring and enjoying the reaction, feeling the first real sting of joy since he had returned.

 _But what about your friends on the other side of that rift?_

The thought drove the relief and happiness from his mind in a moment. It was like another voice in his mind, needling him, jangling his nerves and doubts.

 _You abandoned them to an unknown future. They needed you, but you sacrificed them for your own desires. Just like you sacrificed everyone else around you._

With an savage effort of will, Picard thrust the thoughts away from him, suppressing them and the other emotions once again. He fought to control his breathing and smeared the tears away from his face.

One thing he knew now to be certain – there was no longer any reason for staying aboard the _Enterprise_.

* * *

'Anyone got any spare computer time?' The call came from Lieutenant Commander Brijeda's small office cubicle. 'Commander Data wants some sensor readings from the Neutral Zone looking at.'

There was silence across the whole of the science lab. Brijeda emerged from his office and gazed with good humour at his staff, all of whom kept their heads bent over their workstations.

There was a drawn-out moment of silence, broken eventually by a computer voice saying, 'Complete.'

At that, everybody in the room burst into laughter and ironic applause for the unlucky officer, who stood up from a corner workstation with an embarrassed smile on her face. Over the noise, Brijeda called, 'Lieutenant Thames wins!'

It was a common ritual that whoever's computer announced they were finished first got the next job on the list. Thames made her way through the lab to Brijeda's office while the atmosphere returned to normal. Brijeda waved her to the seat beside his. 'Bad luck, Ro, although this probably won't take too long.'

He keyed his terminal on and swivelled the screen so that Thames could see. 'Commander Data wants us to cross-reference some readings that we took of a subspace anomaly in the Korella system against some archival data. He's looking for points of similarity between this and other subspace disturbances.'

Thames nodded, looking at the screen. She pointed to some of the data on the screen. 'According to this, it disappeared two hours ago.'

'That's right,' said Brijeda with a nod. 'The captain decided not to investigate it – the Prophets alone know why.'

'That doesn't sound like him,' replied Thames.

'You know him that well?' said Brijeda, raising an eyebrow at her.

Thames gave him a look and ignored the comment. 'When does Commander Data want the results by?'

'No rush,' said Brijeda. 'But I don't want it taking time away from our work on analysing the remnants of the Borg technology that's been left aboard.'

'No problem,' said Thames. 'Despite what my computer said, I still have an hour's worth of work on that implant. I'll get it back down to the cargo bay once I'm done and then look at this subspace data.'

Brijeda smiled, pleased as always with his young subordinate. 'Thanks Ro. I knew I could count on you.'

* * *

It had only taken Picard three hours to pack up his ready room and have his things moved into storage. They would stay aboard the _Enterprise_ until he made his final decisions about his future.

As he looked around the room, Picard could still remember the endless conferences, crisis meetings, arguments even, that had taken place in this office over the years. Some of the most pivotal moments in the war had taken place in this room; some of the darkest times.

The door behind him slid open to admit Riker and Troi. Riker glanced involuntarily at the bare walls as he entered and a momentary grimace crossed his face. Masking his feelings quickly, he said, 'Shuttlebay Two reports that the _Cousteau_ is prepped and ready to launch. We've finished putting your personal items in storage ready for when –'

He broke off and sighed. Picard took pity on him. 'It's OK, Will. I think there are a lot of things we're all going to have to adjust to in the coming months.'

Riker nodded ruefully. Troi broke in, 'What are your plans, sir?'

'I'm going to head to LaBarre for a while,' said Picard. 'I think I'll go and visit Marie, perhaps spend some time tending the vineyard. Marie keeps complaining that it's too big for her to manage, even with outside help, so I can lend a hand at least.'

He paused, looking thoughtful. 'Robert would laugh if he could see me now.'

The three friends stood in silence for a moment, the atmosphere full with things that could never be said aloud; about love & friendship, shared memories, lives lived together through good and bad.

It didn't take an empath to sense the building emotion in the room, and Picard was the one who chose to break its hold over them all. He picked up a small holdall from the desk beside him and slung it over his shoulder. 'I think it's time to go,' he said simply.

He held out a hand to his first officer, who shook it slowly. No words were expressed between the two friends, only a meaningful look that spoke of mutual respect and admiration.

As Picard turned to face his counsellor, Troi reached out unexpectedly and hugged him. Taken aback, Picard returned the embrace after a moment's hesitation. They stood holding each other for a few seconds before Troi released him, brushing away a tear. She looked up at her captain. 'Don't let it consume you, sir. Never forget we're always here for you.'

She looked into his eyes, sensing the unspoken power of the emotions dammed behind the iron wall of his control. Even despite their darkness, the power and the depth of those feelings were attractive. She could feel herself beginning to fall into them; to revel and submerge herself, drowning in the richness of the dark sensations in her captain's psyche.

Troi knew how to combat that seductive pull. She did it all the time, but she could feel Picard's struggle to overcome that urge failing within him. He had used his own iron self-discipline and control to manage his feelings until now, but the twin stresses of being restored to this reality and suddenly dealing with people he had thought long dead were breaking down his defences, slowly but surely.

Suddenly, Troi began to realise that Picard might never recover from his pain.

The captain tried to give a reassuring smile to Troi, to use his strength to supplement hers, but it came out crooked. 'I'll try, Counsellor.'

* * *

Starbase 411 was a typically utilitarian space station, one of a number of identikit facilities that dotted the Neutral Zone border for light years, in this case orbiting a small moon in the shadow of the immense gas giant Beta Logornis.

One feature marked out the Starbase from most others of its type, which was the constant stream of invisible subspace radio chatter that crackled in the emptiness around the entire star system. The main communications hub for Starfleet in the Glintara sector of the Neutral Zone border, every outpost in the sector would route their signals through the Starbase to wherever they were intended.

The command deck of Starbase 411 was a crowded, noisy hive of activity. Computer consoles and work stations lined every corner of wall space, their electronic brains shunting data back and forth, continuously decoding and recoding signals, linking themselves to the immense antennae on the hull of the space station, firing their signals off into space, only to receive new messages back. This frantic activity was overseen by a small army of technicians and officers, who moved calmly but with purpose between the great computing engines, extracting their own data for their own uses from the terabytes of data that flowed in and out of the facility.

Such a wealth of information could only be placed in the hands of a highly experienced and skilled commander. The turbolift doors slid back, allowing Admiral T'Valla to step forth onto the command deck.

As one, her crew snapped to attention as an ensign called, 'Admiral on deck!'

'As you were.' T'Valla's voice was level, but her tone rang through the entire command centre. As her crew went back to their assigned tasks, T'Valla made her way to her work station, climbing up a short flight of stairs onto the upper level of the command deck. From there, she could oversee any aspect of the work carried out on the constant stream of signal, but her own workload was such that she found little time to worry about the normal everyday tasks going on below her.

In a noisy area such as this, the brain could tune out the racket going on around it, meaning that it was easier to concentrate. It also meant that any unusual noises that upset the machine were that much more obvious.

Such a noise occurred now, as one of the standby silent consoles set aside exclusively for starship communications suddenly squawked for attention, it's noisy bleeping cutting across the deck.

As T'Valla looked up, questioning, an ensign grabbed an earpiece and acknowledged the signal. After a few moments, the young man turned to face T'Valla, a puzzled expression on his face. 'Admiral, the signal is coming from the USS _Spirit_ , but there is no actual voice transmission coming across subspace. We have received a standard hail, but there is no response to my acknowledgement.'

T'Valla frowned slightly. 'Please route the signal to my console.'

The ensign nodded and punched in the relevant commands. T'Valla's own desk monitor lit up and she took control of the signal. A standard Starfleet chevron appeared on the dark screen momentarily, before the automated computer readout indicating a hail from a starship scrolled across the monitor. T'Valla's long fingers keyed in a series of commands, but the screen remained stubbornly blank.

T'Valla's first officer materialised behind her, his keen eyes already scanning the screen. T'Valla glanced up at him, her normal Vulcan reserve diminishing slightly. 'What do you make of this, Charlie?'

Lieutenant Commander Charles Nash frowned at the screen. 'We wouldn't normally get an automatic hail unless they were just passing by. The _Spirit_ was heading directly for us. What's her ETA?'

'Tomorrow at 0700.'

Nash pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'Too far away for an automatic system trigger, meaning someone sent this hail manually. Distress signal?'

'If it were, why not use an actual distress signal?' asked T'Valla rhetorically.

The two officers' musing was cut short when another signal bleep cut through the atmosphere again. T'Valla now stood and, followed by Nash, made her way down to the main deck to stand behind the young ensign as he worked on the console.

Eventually, the ensign looked up at his commanding officer. 'Sorry, Admiral, it's exactly the same as last time.'

'Charlie,' said T'Valla. Nash, understanding his friend's order implicitly, motioned the young ensign aside and took his place in the chair before the console. Quick, sure strokes of the keys on the screen before him allowed Nash to start probing the signal content itself.

In a few moments, he had stripped the data stream being received by the antennae into its component parts; a subspace carrier wave that actually managed the transmission of the data, the actual meaningful message itself and a third part that seemed to be just garbled gibberish.

T'Valla's attention was immediately drawn to that segment of the signal. Her keen eyes, aided by long years of experience in interpreting such signals, were instantly drawn to the repeating strands of data that littered the signal. 'What's this?'

Nash frowned at it. 'I think there's a message buried in there.'

He turned and punched in commands to another console beside him, calling up a program from his personal folder. 'Let's see…'

Turning back to the main screen, Nash highlighted the data stream and fed the parameters into his program. 'I wrote this program a few years ago,' he remarked as he worked, 'to break through some of the Romulan code traffic during the Klingon civil war. They had a nasty habit of burying real messages within the subspace transmission code, hiding them unless you knew they were there.'

T'Valla raised an eyebrow. 'You think this is a Romulan signal?'

Nash shook his head. 'No, but whoever sent this has probably seen action along the border. It's too similar to be a coincidence –'

He was cut off by a single bleep from the screen. 'Looks like we have something.'

T'Valla and Nash both leaned forward in anticipation. A single line of text suddenly rolled across the screen. As they read it, the background noise of the busy communications systems seemed to fade away around them.

For a moment, the two officers stared at the text, feeling a spike of ice running through their spines. Nash hissed his breath out between his teeth, while T'Valla's face, calm though it was, became locked as if in stone. Even her Vulcan reserve was shaken by the message on the screen before them.

After a moment, T'Valla straightened up. 'Very well,' she said quietly. 'Ensign Makt, stay here and see if you can get hold of the _Spirit_ and record any other messages she might send.'

As Makt took Nash's place at the console, the first officer drew T'Valla aside. 'Admiral, what do you think it means? Why would you embed a message like that in code, rather than making a distress call?'

T'Valla shook her head. 'There is no use speculating. What was the last known position of the _Spirit_?'

'Captain Corl's conversation with you placed them about five light years from here, towards Zeta Cruis.'

'Are there any ships in that area?'

Nash called up a sector display on a nearby screen. 'USS _Ali's_ conducting a training mission near here, but the rest of the sector fleet is on manoeuvres near the Bassen Rift.'

'How long would it take to get a ship here from the fleet?'

Nash sighed. '24 hours at least.'

'Sir?' T'Valla and Nash turned to face Ensign Makt, who looked slightly nervous at the attention he was suddenly receiving. 'The _Enterprise_ is on border patrol near here. They warped in two days ago.'

T'Valla and Nash shared a look.

* * *

Rosanna Thames made her way along the corridor near the cargo bay absent-mindedly, her thoughts far away. In her left arm, she cradled a Borg implant, one that was designed to fit over a human arm, allowing tool implements to be grafted on afterwards.

As she turned a corner, she realised that Captain Picard was walking towards her, a holdall slung over his shoulder, his eyes distant.

It was only as they drew within a few feet of each other that he registered her presence, stopping and turning to regard her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Thames remembered the only other time she had met the captain, at a reception for new officers when she had first come aboard the _Enterprise_ , just a few weeks before. He had had a brief but unremarkable conversation with a few of the new officers, including her, and had seemed polite but distant. It chimed with what she had heard about her commanding officer from friends and tutors at the Academy.

Now that same man, a legend in Starfleet, was staring at her with an intensity that caused her to tremble slightly. She stopped and forced herself to look at him. 'Is there something you need, Captain?'

Picard opened his mouth as if to speak and then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he directed his attention to the Borg implant Thames was carrying. 'How have you come by that little toy, Lieutenant?'

His voice was slightly husky, thought Thames for a moment, as if he was fighting off strong emotion. 'My team is working with the specialist taskforce on analysing the remnants of the Borg incursion, sir,' she replied.

She held the implant up to show him. It helped her composure to focus her attention on the implant and not on her captain. Pointing out two nodes on the forearm area, she continued, 'I've been working on these instruments, to try and understand what these nodes in particular do. We know that some of the Borg data feeds flow through there, but we haven't really understood what in particular is being controlled by them.'

She saw Picard's nonplussed expression and continued hurriedly, 'Anyway, I was just returning this to the cargo bay.'

Picard nodded, his expression bemused. 'Very well. My apologies, Lieutenant Thames. Carry on.'

With that, he turned and carried on slowly up the corridor. Thames resisted the urge to turn and watch him go, but couldn't suppress a tinge of disappointment. _Well, at least he remembered my –_

'Lieutenant?' Thames turned quickly to find the captain looking at her again. 'Can I have a look at that implant again please?'

Thames hurried to her captain's side and passed the implant to him, oddly and acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers as he took it from her hands.

Picard studied the implant closely, paying particular attention to the nodes she had indicated earlier. After a moment, he nodded with a faintly satisfied air. Lowering the implant closer to Thames' eye-level, he said, 'Here and here, you can see the assimilation tubules they use to deploy the nanoprobes into the bloodstream. I think these nodes may control the programming of the nanoprobes before injection.'

Thames nodded, but couldn't really understand how the captain had reached that conclusion. Her puzzlement must have communicated itself to the captain, as he added airily, 'You learn a few things from being assimilated.'

For a moment, he stood with the implant in his hand, as if lost in thought. Then he looked down at the young lieutenant beside him. 'I'm heading back to Earth today. I think this should come with me, back to the taskforce.' He paused, before continuing, 'They might appreciate some expert analysis from someone who's been working on this object.'

Thames looked blankly at him before realising what he meant. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she replied, 'I'm not sure what I could add, sir. You were the one –'

Picard cut across her with well-practiced ease. 'I have unique experience of the Borg, but I'm not a scientist, Rosanna. I think they would benefit from your scientific viewpoint.'

Taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken, Thames could only nod dumbly. Picard tapped his commbadge. 'Picard to Lieutenant Commander Brijeda.'

'Brijeda here.' Thames' superior's voice sounded surprised.

'Commander, I apologise for the short notice but, with your permission, I'd like to place Lieutenant Thames on detached duty under my command for the time being.'

Picard's voice brooked no disagreement and Brijeda took the request for what it was. 'No problems, sir.'

'Very good, commander,' said Picard. He cut the channel and turned his attention to Thames, a faint smile on his face. Handing her the implant, he said, 'Get your things together and meet me at the captain's yacht in ten minutes. You're coming back to Earth with me, Lieutenant.'

With that, he turned and carried on down the corridor. Thames stared after him in stunned amazement before a huge smile crept slowly across her face. She turned and sprinted in the other direction towards her quarters.

* * *

Picard heard the footsteps fading away as Thames hurried down the corridor behind him. As soon as he knew she was out of sight, he sagged against the bulkhead, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he released the tension and shock that had filled him the instant he had noticed her.

 _How did I forget how beautiful she was?_

He stood, back resting against the bulkhead, head bowed and sobbing as if life itself was being pushed out of him, hoping desperately that none of his crew turned the corner to see him.

After what felt like hours, but was in fact only a minute, Picard felt the tightness in his chest easing and his breathing became calmer. He straightened up, only resting his hand against the bulkhead. A chill ran through him as he contemplated his sudden rash impulse.

He had seen her coming around the corner long before acknowledging her. His mind had simply shut down, almost in self-defence, but he had not been able to take his eyes away from her, drinking her presence in as if she was the stuff of life itself.

So what had come over him to suggest that she accompany him to Earth? There was absolutely no reason to suggest it; his pretext about the Borg implant was exactly that - a pretext. He had no idea what the nodes did, but he could feel his mouth moving and the words coming out as if he were merely a passenger in his own body.

Even as he contemplated it, Picard could feel panic gathering up within him; an emotion that was so unfamiliar to him that he didn't even know how to handle it as it flooded through him. For a moment, he considered running to the Shuttlebay and simply flying away, but he knew that was the panic talking.

With an effort, he forced himself to stand upright, taking his hand away from the bulkhead, clamping down on his surging feelings. After a moment, he continued walking along the corridor towards the Shuttlebay.

As he walked, he mused that, for better or for worse, he had made his decision – now the only thing to do was to find out where it took them…

* * *

Riker sat in the centre chair on the bridge, waiting pensively for the call he knew would come. Beside him, Troi seemed more relaxed, but she kept casting glances at her friend, aware of his worry.

Behind Riker's head, Hedly's console bleeped. Hedly looked confused as she reported, 'Commander, the captain's yacht is requesting permission to depart. The flight plan…'

Hedly hesitated, not quite believing her eyes. 'Sir, the flight plan was filed for Earth. By Captain Picard.'

Riker felt every eye on the bridge turn to look at him. He rubbed a hand across his own eyes. 'Very well, lieutenant. Grant clearance.'

'Sir?'

'That was an order, lieutenant!' snapped Riker, more harshly than he meant.

'Aye, sir,' said Hedly, snapping to attention.

Riker got to his feet. 'OK, everyone, I have an announcement to make.' He waited until he had everyone's attention before continuing, 'Captain Picard has decided to take a leave of absence on Earth. I don't know yet when he'll be back, but until then, we're to continue with our assigned mission along the Neutral Zone. Any questions?'

There was silence across the bridge. 'Good,' said the first officer. 'Carry on.'

Another bleep cut the air. Hedly, sounding slightly disgruntled, said, 'Commander, we're receiving a transmission from Starbase 411. Admiral T'Valla is asking for Captain Picard.'

Riker grimaced. 'Sooner than I'd expected,' he muttered to himself. Out loud he said, 'Patch it through to the captain's ready room and I'll take it there.'

'Aye, sir,' replied Hedly.

Riker entered the ready room to find the console bleeping insistently. He hesitated for a moment before sitting in the chair opposite the captain's chair, swivelling the screen to face him. He keyed it on and T'Valla's face appeared. 'Admiral, I'm Commander Riker.'

'Greetings, Commander,' replied the Vulcan evenly. 'I was trying to contact Captain Picard.'

'I'm afraid the captain has taken a leave of absence and won't be back for some time,' said Riker. 'However, the _Enterprise_ is at your disposal.'

T'Valla took this on board. 'Very well, Commander. We've been receiving what we believe is a distress call from the USS _Spirit_ , which is on a research mission near Zeta Cruis.'

'What you _believe_ is a distress call?' repeated Riker, confused.

'That is correct, Commander,' replied T'Valla. 'Attached to this transmission are the message logs from the _Spirit_ since our last contact with her as well as her last known position. The _Spirit_ is on a research mission into dark matter near Zeta Cruis. She passed by Outpost 8 three days before and reported no difficulties. Eighteen hours ago, Captain Corl reported that they had intercepted a shuttlecraft, part of our complement here, adrift outside the Neutral Zone. They were en route here to return the shuttle and… its passenger.'

'Passenger?'

As much as a Vulcan could, T'Valla looked awkward. 'Captain Corl told me that the only person on the shuttle was Admiral Alynna Nechayev.'

At the name, Riker's eyes widened in surprise. He could not have imagined a less likely person to be adrift in a shuttle on the Romulan border. 'Admiral, are you seriously suggesting Admiral Nechayev stole one of your shuttles and attempted to cross into the Neutral Zone?'

'I'm not suggesting anything,' replied T'Valla. 'All I have are the facts to hand. My staff has been back through our station logs and found no reference to Admiral Nechayev ever being here. However, one of our shuttles is missing. That shuttle was retrieved by the _Spirit_ and our last contact with Captain Corl indicated that Admiral Nechayev was still unconscious. That took place sixteen hours ago.'

'No further contact since then?'

'Not voice contact, no,' said T'Valla. 'We received this signal embedded within a standard automated hail from the _Spirit_.'

The screen flickered for a moment, before displaying a mass of computer code. Although Riker couldn't interpret it directly, he did know enough to be able to recognise a standard computer hail. The code scrolled quickly down until one small section was highlighted; three words, simple words that sent a chill through Riker.

 _She's killing us._

Riker leant back in his chair. ' _She's_ killing us? Do they mean Admiral Nechayev?'

'Unknown at this point,' replied T'Valla's voice. 'We have received three automatic hails from the _Spirit_ since this first message, all of them the same. We cannot pick up the Spirit on our scanners, so that suggests that they are not in range to broadcast an automatic hail. This message was transmitted manually.'

Her face reappeared on the screen. 'Commander, I must ask that the _Enterprise_ alter course to intercept the _Spirit_ and bring her back to Starbase 411 for investigation.'

'Understood, Admiral,' replied Riker with a curt nod. 'I will update you as soon as I have anything.'

T'Valla inclined her head with typical Vulcan reserve and the channel closed.

Riker sighed before standing and making his way back onto the bridge. As the ready room doors closed, Riker shot a glance at the tactical station. 'Lieutenant, is the _Cousteau_ clear?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Hedly. 'It went to warp a minute ago.'

For a moment, Riker considered the crazy idea of hailing the _Cousteau_ and calling it back. 'Very well,' he said instead. 'Helm, you have the co-ordinates for the last position of the USS _Spirit_. Lay in a course at maximum warp.'

He looked down at Troi. 'Deanna, come with me, please.'

Looking slightly mystified, Troi followed Riker into the aft turbolift. As she entered, she found the first officer of the _Enterprise_ leaning against the wall of the car, his arms folded; his face glum. 'Deanna, we've had orders from Admiral T'Valla to change course and locate the USS _Spirit_. They've been sending a distress call.'

'So why are you telling me?'

Riker sighed. 'I'm going to need to call a senior staff meeting and I think one of us should go and tell Beverly about the captain before it.'

Troi thought for a moment before shaking her head. 'Beverly's going to be furious with us for keeping this quiet and even angrier at the captain for not coming to her first. It might be better to let it all come out at the staff meeting as part of the normal run of events. More than that, there are still too many open questions about the captain's situation to even begin giving answers. At least in the meeting you can control what you reveal.'

'Are you sure?'

The Counsellor shrugged. 'However we do it, we'll get it wrong. I'd at least like to get our explanation in first.'

Riker grinned. 'Good point. I like my head the shape it is.'

'Me too,' said Troi, returning his smile.

* * *

It was the first time the senior staff had assembled since leaving Earth, Riker reflected, apropos of nothing. He sat in the chair at the head of the long table, his back to the door, staring at the stars. He heard his friends entering the room and turned to see them taking their places, looking expectantly at Riker.

The first officer turned and gazed at his friends. To his left sat Data and Geordi, to his right Troi and Hedly. Crusher had taken a seat slightly further down the table. Her expression was pre-occupied and she fixed her gaze on the desk rather than on Riker.

The best thing to do was get straight on with it. 'I need to brief you all on a couple of things that have happened in fairly short order,' began Riker. 'Firstly, we're responding to a request for support from Admiral T'Valla and we may be about to engage in a search-and-rescue mission. Lieutenant Hedly, draw up an S&R mission profile for a _Nebula_ -class starship. I want to see it in an hour.'

Hedly looked excited at her first chance to prove her skills. Riker continued, 'Now, the other matter. As some of you may be aware, Captain Picard has taken a leave of absence from the _Enterprise_. What you don't know is why: Counsellor Troi and I will attempt to brief you on the situation, but neither of us can pretend to fully understand the impact that this has had on the captain. All I can say at this moment is that he needs some time away from the ship.'

Riker and Troi kept their explanation simple, giving only the barest outlines of the captain's story and emotional difficulties. As Troi explained some of the details that Riker had heard before, he cast his eyes around the room.

Data, George and Hedly all listened to the story with varying degrees of surprise, fascination and confusion. In contrast, Crusher stared fixedly at the desk, her expression growing darker with every word. Riker watched the doctor for a long moment, seeing how stiffly she held herself. The first officer could already see the explosion brewing.

Troi brought her story to a close and looked at Riker. The first officer took a deep breath. 'Does anyone have any questions? Ones that you don't need Captain Picard to answer?'

It was Geordi who asked the obvious question. 'Is the captain coming back?'

Riker sighed and leant back in his chair. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I really don't know.'

Silence hung in the observation room for a moment as the assembled officers digested the news they had been given. Eventually, Riker said, 'If that's all, dismissed.'

The senior staff cleared the room, leaving behind Riker, Troi and Crusher. For the first time, the doctor looked up at her two friends, the hurt and anger on her face unhidden. 'So, this is the first time you thought to tell me?' she snapped angrily.

Troi began, 'Beverly, the captain –'

Crusher cut her off. 'I don't care what he told you! Besides the fact that he is my friend, I have a professional duty to him, to you and to the crew to monitor his well-being!'

She leant across the desk, fire in her eyes, her voice low and upset. 'You stopped me from doing my job. You stopped me from helping him when he needed me. For the time being, just leave me alone.'

With that, Crusher stormed out of the observation lounge, leaving Troi and Riker shocked and dismayed in her wake.

* * *

Lieutenant Thames keyed in the last commands and secured the _Cousteau_ as it found its top speed. With a satisfied grin, she activated the intercom. 'We're stable at warp eight, captain,' she reported.

'Very good, Lieutenant.' Picard's voice was curt.

Thames sagged slightly in her chair. Quelling a slight sense of disappointment, she keyed the computer displays on and began to pick up her reading where she had left off on the _Enterprise_. Then she heard a voice calling her name; _Rosanna_ …

* * *

Picard stared intently at the page before him, but couldn't see any of the words. He forced himself into a relaxed position, despite feeling like a string that might snap at any moment. His attitude seemed casual, yet every sense was on full alert, directed at the cockpit of the small craft.

His mind was filled with her, possessed by her nearness. Every second he was fighting against the desire to call her through to the back of the _Cousteau_ , simply because he so desperately wanted to hear the sound of her voice. He could feel the desire welling up within him to look at her, to see her face again, to hold her…

The door bleeped suddenly, making him jump with shock. Picard dimly realised that his voice was filled with panic. 'What?'

The door slid aside, revealing Lieutenant Thames, her face puzzled. 'Did you call me, Captain?'

Picard stared for a moment at the young woman, feeling a cold chill running through him at the idea that he might have spoken his thoughts and desires out loud. But then, if he had, Thames would probably be looking at him in horror, rather than puzzlement. The captain was also painfully aware that he had continued staring at her rather longer than was comfortable. 'Er… no, Lieutenant,' he managed after a further pause, striving to bring command tone back into his voice.

'It's just… I...' Thames visibly pulled herself together. 'I'm sorry, sir. I thought I heard your voice. Excuse me.'

With that, she stepped back and allowed the door to slide closed.

* * *

As the door cut the captain's puzzled face off from her, Thames bowed her head slightly, nearly resting it on the cool metal surface before her. _How could I have been so silly?_

* * *

Picard stared at the closed door before him, hearing, as if spoken quietly in a huge echoing hall from the farthest distance possible while still remaining audible, _What would he ever see in me?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

When Joral Brijeda left duty, he generally went down to the Ten-Forward bar for a drink before carrying on with his evening.

He entered the bar area and cast his eyes around, finally lighting on Lieutenant Hedly, who smiled and raised her glass to indicate that it was empty. With a grin, he made his way over to the bar and ordered for both of them before carrying the two glasses over to their table.

'Thanks, Jor,' said Hedly with a smile as she swapped her empty glass for the full one.

'My pleasure,' replied Brijeda. He leaned across the table and gave the security chief a quick kiss. 'You're not usually off this early, are you?'

Hedly shook her head. 'Not usually. I'm just taking a break before we arrive. Commander Riker's let us all take time out before then.'

'Where are we going anyway? I thought we were just doing border patrol.'

'Distress signal. Not sure what the details are yet.'

Brijeda held up his hands. 'Don't worry about it – I'll know if I need to know.'

Hedly grinned. 'You've definitely spent too much time around me.' She drained her glass and looked suggestively at him. 'Come on, I haven't got much time.'

Brijeda raised an eyebrow. 'Can't a man have some rest?'

'Not with me.'

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Hedly rolled to one side in the bed, a smile lighting up her flushed face. Beside her, Brijeda gasped for breath. 'I don't think I can keep up anymore…'

Hedly propped herself up on her elbow and gazed fondly at the Bajoran. They had met while she was serving her placement on _Deep Space Nine_ and hit it off straightaway. When she had been assigned to the _Enterprise_ , she had been delighted to find that he had beaten her there and they had picked up where they left off, both in and out of bed.

Or at least, Hedly had. She had an energy that not many had ever been able to keep up with and she knew how much it frustrated Jor that he couldn't. She knew he was seeing other women and, to be honest, she didn't care. It was probably a signal to her that he wanted to move on; he just hadn't found the bravery to say it yet.

Rather than speak, Gaia instead slid out of the bed and made her way quietly to where her uniform had been dumped unceremoniously on the deck. Brijeda sat upright, propped up on his elbows, and watched her as she dressed silently. 'Is this the part where I never see you again?' he said eventually.

Hedly hid a smile. 'No, of course not. The _Enterprise_ isn't that big.'

'I meant -'

'I know what you meant.' Gaia turned, her trousers dangling from her hand and regarded Brijeda with a half-smile. 'Look, I know about the other women. It's OK.'

Jor pursed his lips and nodded slowly. 'OK. So we're finished because of that?'

Hedly shrugged and turned round to put her trousers on. Slowly. She smiled as Brijeda squirmed and said, 'We're finished, Jor, because I say we're finished. It's been nice, but I think we both want to move on.'

She finished dressing and turned round to face him again. 'Don't we?'

Brijeda looked at her, his face serious. 'Have you been seeing anyone else?'

For a moment Hedly considered lying. Instead, she answered, 'Yes.'

Brijeda's face fell. Gaia lost her good mood and, angry with herself, just shook her head and grabbed her commbadge, which promptly bleeped. 'Hedly here,' she snapped.

'Lieutenant, I need to see you in the captain's ready room,' said Commander Riker. 'If you're prepared...?'

'Yes, sir,' said Hedly, her voice calm, although she was seething inside. 'I'll be there in five minutes.'

'Understood.'

She turned and looked at Joral again, who had wrapped the sheet around himself and sat on the edge of the bed. 'Look, I'm sorry -' he began and then stopped himself. He dropped his head. 'I'm sorry.'

Hedly sighed. 'It's OK. Forget about it.'

As she made her way to the door, Jor called after her, 'Say hello to Rosanna Thames for me.'

Hedly paused in the open door, looking confused. 'Why -? What the hell are you talking about?'

Brijeda frowned. 'She's working with the captain. I... assumed that she's in the team you're putting together.'

'The captain?' Hedly frowned back at Brijeda. 'The captain's taken a leave of absence.'

Brijeda looked confused before his eyes widened and he scrambled out of bed, hunting for his clothes. 'I need to see Commander Riker!'

* * *

Riker and Troi listened to Brijeda's story in a state of some confusion, as the science officer related his conversation with Captain Picard. When he finished, Riker had his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the desk before him. Eventually, he raised his head to fix Brijeda with a baleful look. 'Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Commander. I would be grateful if you say nothing of this matter to anyone else on-board ship for the time being...'

'Yes, sir,' replied Brijeda.

'Dismissed.' Brijeda and Hedly both left the ready room, looking grateful to be out of the way of Riker's mood.

As the door slid closed behind the two junior officers, Riker stood up and paced to the other side of the desk. Troi felt that, had her friend had a tail, he would have been lashing it wildly about in frustration. Instead, Riker clasped his hands tightly behind his back, his hands white with tension.

Troi kept quiet, letting Riker get to the point where he wanted to talk rather than prompting him. Eventually, he turned and fixed her with a glare. 'So, what the hell has a young lieutenant got to do with this?'

Troi shrugged. She had her suspicions, but… 'Do you really think that's the most important question right now?'

Riker scowled for a moment, but then nodded with a weary resignation. 'No, you're right.' He unclasped his hands and stretched, trying to shake loose the tension from his body. 'Let's make an all-hands announcement. I wanted to keep it to senior staff, but I think we need to make sure that there aren't any other officers that the captain's decided to dragoon into a trip to Earth. We'll leave out the details.'

'Agreed,' said Troi. 'What about after this mission's completed?'

'I think we'll need to head for Earth,' replied Riker, after a moment's thought.

He moved closer to Troi, who found herself gazing up at him. His voice was quiet. 'Deanna, what really worries me isn't that the captain needs a leave of absence; that's understandable. What if this decision to take Lieutenant Thames with him is due to something that happened in the parallel universe?'

'What do you mean?'

'I've never seen the captain more shaken than in the last few days,' murmured Riker, as if he was talking to himself. His eyes didn't focus on Deanna, instead looking past her. 'It really was like talking to a different man.'

His eyes met hers. 'What if he's re-enacting something from the past – the other past? What if Lieutenant Thames means something more to him than we realise? What if -?'

He broke off, unwilling to continue. Troi touched his arm gently. 'What if she was his wife?'

Riker looked amazed at the suggestion. 'Do you know that for certain?'

'No,' replied the Counsellor quietly. Riker raised an eyebrow at her response, and she continued, 'But it does make sense. He said that he wanted to see his wife again when he was dying in the parallel universe. She was returning from a mission and he wouldn't survive to see her again. I assumed that she was here somewhere, but I wasn't sure where. Until…'

'You can't be certain, though?' Riker insisted. At Troi's shake of the head, he looked grim. 'It's equally possible that something happened between the two of them that wasn't so good.'

He sighed and sat down. 'I want to think the best of him, De, but I think of the man I know, and the one I've talked to the last couple of days…' He looked up at the Counsellor, his expression perturbed. 'I'm not sure that I trust him to do the right thing anymore. And I don't think we've done the right thing either, for him or us. He took us completely by surprise: neither of us was expecting what we saw. We shouldn't have let him leave the ship –'

'I suggested he take the leave of absence, Will!' snapped Deanna, shaken by Riker's angry voice.

'I know you did!' Riker bit back. His tone softened slightly. 'Damn it… of course I know that.'

Surprised by both Riker's anger and her own, Troi moved around and took the seat opposite him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, it was Riker who broke the silence. 'Let's make the announcement and get this mission out of the way first. Then we'll decide what to do about the captain; after all,' he added with a tentative grin, 'it's not as if we can do anything about it now.'

Deanna shared his smile. 'No.'

Riker stood and moved to the door. Just before he got there, he turned and looked at Troi. 'I'm sorry, _Imzadi_.'

Troi's smile became playful. 'I like you when you're feeling guilty.'

With that, she swept out of the room past him, leaving the first officer looking aghast in her wake.

* * *

As the pair made their way back onto the bridge, Data got up from his position in the command chair, saying, 'Commander Riker, we're picking up a silhouette on our navigational sensors. It corresponds with a _Nebula_ -class starship.'

Riker didn't try to hide his surprise. 'A silhouette? It's adrift without power?'

Data nodded. 'Yes, Commander.'

'OK, bring us out of warp and do a sensor sweep.'

* * *

In a flare of light, the _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp and down to impulse power, her powerful scanners sweeping through space and locking on to a dark shape within moments.

The gloomy unlit shape of USS _Spirit_ hung against the stars, silent and foreboding. Her hull was unmarked and undamaged, yet her warp nacelles were dead and no light shone in any of the windows dotted across her hull.

Coming to a dead stop, the _Enterprise_ overshadowed the smaller vessel like a shark dominates its prey, pointing her nose directly at the bridge module on top of the saucer.

* * *

Riker stood with his hand resting on the back of Data's chair, his eyes on the screen. 'Data, any signs of life?'

'No, sir,' replied the android, his eyes fixed on his instruments. 'No power readings or heat emissions of any kind either. The warp core appears to have shut down completely.'

Riker's face was grim. 'Meaning: no life support.'

'Affirmative,' confirmed Data. 'The temperature on the _Spirit_ is significantly below human tolerable parameters and continuing to fall.'

Riker kept his attention on the screen. Some ancient instinct was stirring in the back of his mind, an instinct born in the darkness of ancient prehistory, one that came alive when the eyes of the predator were searching. This feeling was telling Riker that something terrible lurked in the darkness and cold on the dead starship before him, a feeling given birth by those three simple words: _She's killing us._

He felt an urge welling deep within him to order that the _Enterprise's_ weapons be unleashed on the _Spirit_ , to obliterate it and leave its grave behind, never to be known again. That urge warred with his sense of duty, knowing that, whatever the danger he suspected, he would have to send his friends into the heart of that darkness, to investigate and uncover the truth of what happened here.

These thoughts flickered through his head and were gone in brief moments, overwhelmed by the years of training to suppress such instincts in the name of duty. Instead, the first officer tapped his commbadge. 'Riker to La Forge.'

'La Forge here.'

'Geordi, I need you to assemble an engineering team for a full warp core restart. It's going to be a space-cold environment, so make sure that the team has full environment gear; you know the drill. Assemble in transporter room one in ten minutes.'

'Acknowledged,' replied the engineer.

'Data –' Riker hesitated, aware of what he had been about to order. He sighed inwardly and said, instead, 'Data, you're to lead the away team. Establish what happened on the _Spirit_ and report back.'

'Aye, sir,' replied the android. 'Lieutenant Hedly, with me.'

As Data and Hedly headed for the aft turbolift, Riker turned to look at them both, feeling the weight of command resting heavily on his shoulders. He felt Deanna's warm hand enfold his. He looked down to see her gentle smile. 'Sit down, captain,' she murmured.

A smile crept over Riker's face, unbidden. 'Aye, sir.'

* * *

In the engine room of the stricken starship, silence reigned supreme. Ice crept over the dead black displays, films of white crusting over inert consoles as the freezing cold of space trickled deeper into the heart of the _Spirit_. Darkness filled the corridors and spaces where once light and warmth had protected the bodies of those who had worked there.

Blue energy sparkled in the midst of the darkness as the _Enterprise's_ transporter beams reached out through space and delivered their cargo. The away team materialised in the midst of the cold and dark, clad in bulky environmental suits and clutching cases full of equipment. As soon as transport was complete, hand torches flared into life, their bright white-blue beams cutting through the gloom.

At the front of the group, Data immediately whisked his tricorder out and began scanning the area. Lieutenant Hedly, carrying a phaser rifle, glared warily into the darkness, her senses alert.

For 30 seconds or so, the only sound was the whirring of the sensors on Data's instruments before the android nodded, satisfied, and closed the device. 'There are no life signs in the immediate vicinity. We shall begin.'

Geordi immediately turned to his second in command. 'Lieutenant Jexler, get your team working on the warp drive and environmental controls.'

As the engineers began work, Geordi turned to look at Data and Hedly. 'What's the plan, Data?'

Data looked pensive. 'We will carry out a full search of the ship when life support is restored; Lieutenant Hedly, co-ordinate the search. Meanwhile, once the computer is online again, we must take a full download of the ship's database and logs to try and ascertain what has happened and where the crew is. You will note that none of the crew appears to have fallen at their posts.'

Geordi and Hedly had noted that fact; the engineering section was completely deserted, and it made sense to assume that the rest of the ship would be in a similar state. This inevitably begged the question that they were there to solve: where was the rest of the crew?

* * *

Slowly and patiently, the away team from the _Enterprise_ began to restore systems aboard the derelict _Spirit_. Data, unwilling to allow anyone to explore the ship until life support was back on-line, instead set his considerable technical expertise to the tedious task of rebuilding computer networks, allowing the rest of the engineers to focus their attention on the physical start-up of the warp core. For her part, Hedly prowled each and every corner of the section, satisfying herself that no nasty surprises lurked in the darkness to endanger her comrades.

Thus it was that she found the first clue to the whereabouts of the crew of the stricken starship. 'Commander!'

At Hedly's shout, Data and Geordi hurried to the corner where the security chief crouched, the torch mounted on her phaser rifle pointed at the bulkhead. Under the beam of light, the dark shadow on the bulkhead was clearly visible.

La Forge glanced at Data, whose tricorder was already out. 'Phaser flash burn?'

Hedly was already shaking her head even as Data completed his scan. 'No,' replied the android as he holstered the tricorder. 'It is the residue left behind after an organic being is vaporised by a phaser beam set to maximum power.'

'Someone was murdered here,' muttered Hedly.

At that moment, there was a crackle and buzz from the central console as power began to hum through the section. Dimly, slowly, the main lights began to flicker into life, revealing what the darkness had hidden. Hedly, Data and Geordi all rose from their crouch next to the scarred bulkhead, beginning to apprehend the horror that lay all around them.

Every bulkhead and deck surface bore a mosaic of scar patterns, each the same hue as the one Hedly had found. Some were simple burn marks, as if a flame had licked across the deck plating, but others were recognisably the shape of figures, their hands raised in various poses of fear and self-defence. Quietly, Geordi said, 'No, Gaia. _Everyone_ was murdered here.'


End file.
